


Here's to love

by Writer207



Category: Black Friday - Team StarKid, The Guy Who Didn't Like Musicals - Team StarKid
Genre: Family Feels, Hurt/Comfort, Introspection, Introspective Paul, Most are sad, Multi, One Shot Collection, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Tom loves his family, and tragic, another apotheosis au, none of them are really related
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-28
Updated: 2021-02-11
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:47:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 13,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26112124
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Writer207/pseuds/Writer207
Summary: Here's to joy and the light it bringsHere's to songs that I'll never singHere's to love and its sunken dreamsHere's to life and the way it seemsMany things happened in Hatchetfields all over the multiverse – for the better or worse. These are snapshots of moments from several of these different universes.(Series of one-shots; book and chapter titles based on lyrics from “Here’s to love” by Jasper Steverlinck)(updated randomly)Last: Time (there's no time at all) - Time is such a strange concept, especially to Hannah Foster. (the original “Black Friday” universe)
Relationships: Alice Woodward & Bill Woodward, Becky Barnes/Tom Houston, Charlotte/Ted (The Guy Who Didn't Like Musicals), Deb/Alice Woodward, Gerald Monroe/Linda Monroe, Hannah Foster & Ethan Green, Hannah Foster & Lex Foster, Lex Foster/Ethan Green, Paul Matthews/Emma Perkins, Tim Houston & Tom Houston, Xander Lee/John McNamara
Comments: 4
Kudos: 33





	1. Joy (and the light it brings)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom has a long-overdue conversation with his son. (Russia does not strike back until later)

The clock struck midnight.Everyone breathed in relief. After inviting Emma and Pat over for a real Thanksgiving dinner this Sunday, he took Tim and immediately drove them home. Everything was exactly as he had left it; an orderly mess that needed cleaning. It was strange seeing it after today, after everything that had happened at the mall.

It was weird to be doing normal things. Dressing down, brushing your teeth, staring extra long in the mirror to see the pained looked in your eyes. Pain stemming from all the trauma of today - he nearly died, Ethan died, many people went mad and burned alive in the mall. He didn’t see it, but their screams haunted him. 

Obviously he wouldn’t sleep tonight. Hours ticked away; midnight moved to half-past two and Tom hadn’t even closed his eyes for longer than a couple of seconds. He couldn’t yet - he saw Ethan, Becky, Gary, in what became their last moments. 

Maybe he should see a therapist. Not just for this Black Friday disaster, but for Jane and everything that happened in the war, too. He never considered it, though he could figure it out himself. But if there’s one thing he learned from today, it was okay and probably necessary to seek out professional help. 

The second thing was to listen to his son. Who lay in bed in the room next to him. Who wasn’t at the carnage, safe with Pat and Emma, but who must have been terrified to lose his father.

Who was probably also lying awake with nothing but his thoughts to keep him from sleep.

Tom threw the blankets off of him and walked out of the bedroom door. He walked down the hall and stopped at Tim’s bedroom door, raising his hand. He hesitated; should he do it at this ungodly hour? What if he was asleep?

But he wasn’t - Tom could hear some Youtube video that Tim was watching through the door. Tom knocked thrice and then opened the door.

Tim had indeed not been asleep. He sat on his bed, under his blankets, and held his phone in his hands, but he must have muted that video because Tom couldn’t hear it anymore. 

“Hey,” Tim said quietly, so as not to disturb the peaceful silence that briefly hung between him and his father.

“Hey,” Tom responded. “Can I come in?”

Tim nodded. “Yeah.”

“Thanks.” Tom walked into his son’s bedroom and close the door behind him. Then he stood there, awkwardly, and stared at him. Thank God he still had Tim. He wouldn’t know what he’d do without his son.

“Are you okay?” he asked. Tim averted his gaze and placed his phone on his nightstand. Tom waited for the answer, but after a while, Tim only shrugged without looking at his dad. 

Tom nodded once in understanding. Of course the kid wasn’t okay. He should have been there for his son. He shouldn’t have been silent since they arrived back home, he shouldn’t have let Tim go to bed without having this conversation first. Now it was way too early in the morning and Tim did not know what to say.

Tom moved closer and sat down at the end of Tim’s bed. Tim watched him again, carefully, waiting to see what his father would start to talk about. He liked having his father around at this moment, but he would also like to be alone. Right now, wanting his father to be around won from wanting to be alone.

“Look, Tim,” Tom said, “I wanted to say I’m sorry. I’ve been a lousy dad to you.” He paused, trying to find the words. In the meantime, Tim did not disagree with him. “I’m not the best, I know that. But I’m trying, you know.”

“You could’ve asked what I wanted,” Tim said. It wasn't exactly what Tom had expected to hear, but it was as good as anything to keep the conversation going.

“I should have, yes,” Tom said almost immediately after Tim stopped speaking. His tone might have been too exciting, but he soon lowered it again to the appropriate tone. “But I _thought_ I knew. I thought that ugly doll would make you… make you love me again.”

It was harder to say out loud than Tom had thought it would be. But he knew it to be true. Since Jane, the way they interacted with each other made clear that Tim had distanced himself. And Tom hadn’t known how to reach him. Even now, the confused frown on his kid’s face was a mystery to him. 

“Dad?”

“We haven’t gotten along lately, and I wanted to make up for it,” Tom continued. He could’ve gone on a rant, listing every activity he could come up with to convince Tim that he really wanted to change his behavior and that he could change. He’s changed before, he could do it again.

But Tim unfortunately spoke before Tom had the chance to express this in way too many words.

“I figured,” he said.

“You did?” Tom asked with a confused tone. 

Tim nodded shyly and took a deep breath. He now had his father’s undivided attention, and he wasn’t sure that he could formulate his thoughts under this gaze.

“I… haven’t been doing so well, lately,” Tim eventually confessed. “It doesn’t excuse my yelling at you and shutting you out, but it’s not your fault. I’m not feeling too well.”

Tom scooted over to sit closer to his son and he placed a firm but soft fatherly hand on Tim’s shoulder - one that meant protection and safety.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Tom asked him softly. Tim at first only shrugged in response, but the need to let it all out and finally talk about it took the better of him.

“You have your own problems,” Tim said, “I didn’t want to be a bother to you.” The fewer problems Tom would deal with, the better the mood was that he was in. Seeing his father in a semi-good mood, walking around in the house, had seemed better than confessing his troubles to his father and bothering him with them. And it felt bad now, even telling Tom this.

But Tom couldn’t stand to see his son suffer, even mentally, and he was shocked to hear it. Things haven’t always been great, but he had always believed Tim would come to him when he needed help. He always did. Until Jane…

Tim looked away from his father. Tom placed his other hand on Tim’s other shoulder and watched him. He wouldn’t make his son look at him - he wasn’t going to force Tim to do something he did not want to do.

“Tim, you can always come to me with your problems,” he said in the most genuinely sincere voice he could muster. Hopefully, it wouldn’t come over as fake. “You’re not a bother, you’re my _son_. Even if you hate me, I will always be there for you and your problems.”

Tim looked up at his father again, surprise in his eyes. 

“But I don’t hate you,” he said. Tom needed a couple of seconds to process this, and even then he was too astonished to immediately say something, anything, in response. _He doesn’t hate me_ … _how?_

“You don’t?” Tom eventually stammered out. And Tim looked at him, surprised, confused, because he had never heard his father talk about being hated by his kid - who also had never said anything of the sort. Tom must have figured Tim hated him, even though Tim had never told him. Just like with the Wiggly doll.

“Dad, don’t you—” And then Tim realized - his eyes widened and he almost gasped. “I don’t blame you for what happened to Mom. It isn’t your fault. I haven’t been doing well and I’ve been lashing out, but you’re my Dad. I still love you.” 

Tom could only watch in shock as his son finally admitted to still loving him. He never expressly said those words to him, and even if he told his Dad that he did love him, Tom had always seen it as a throwaway line, something left from their life with Jane. He doesn’t blame me - he was certain this was at the basis of their continued miscommunication and failure to connect again. But it wasn’t so.

_He doesn’t blame me._

And tears formed in Tom’s eyes, faster than he could wipe them away or hide them from Tim - but why would he hide them? They were tears of joy, after all, not tears of sorrow. And after today, after the emotional distress, it felt really good to let it out.

“You have no idea how much that means to me,” Tom said, and he sniffled. Tim almost started to cry as well.

“Dad…”

Tim shoved a little closer to Tom and he went in for the hug. Tom took his son and embraced him, held him tightly. They sat there unmoving for a while. If it was a short amount of time, it felt like an eternity that flew by way too fast.

But they couldn’t sit there forever, and Tom eventually broke the hug, wiping away the last of his happy tears.

“Thank you,” he said, a smile on his face. He placed a hand on his child’s shoulder again. “And here I thought I came to cheer you up.” Even Tim chuckled at that one - he liked to see his father happy, and he loved this intimate moment; the first one between them since the funeral.

“I’ve been thinking…” Tom continued, “Why don’t we go somewhere? Do something fun, just me and you. But instead of dancing around topics and vague conversations, we just…” Tom paused and shrugged. “We just do things together and talk about everything we want to talk about. Like normal people.”

Tim nodded, even while Tom was still explaining his idea to him. His smile turned into a grin.

“I’d like that.”

Tom’s eyes widened. “Really?”

“Yeah. I like spending time with you.”

Tom almost couldn’t hold back the tears again. 

“And I like spending time with you.”


	2. Songs (that I'll never sing)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Paul reflects on surviving two years of his infected life. (Paul retains (parts of) his humanity)

Paul did not know. How could he? So much information was passed around in the collective Hive mind that this one piece of information seemed so small and insignificant. But not to him.

It was October 12, 2020.

_Two fucking years._

He hadn’t been conscious at first. He had followed orders, like the others; he sat back while the Hive auto-pilot brought him everywhere and made him do things that he could never forget. Unspeakable, unforgivable things. They made him kill as well, but nothing was worse than the God-awful singing and dancing he had no control over and could not stop. 

At one point, he just snapped. He did not want to be a slave anymore. He was still Paul, though he had lost everything. He walked away from the Hive. 

That was six months into the apotheosis. He’d already accepted his horrible fate and had been willing to be numb. He left when could no longer stand to be numb.

The Hive did not stop him. It did wonder where he was going, but it never took any action to return him. Paul never knew why - he figured it was certain enough of its control of him to let him go. He tried not to think about it. Whenever he did, the music softly played in his mind and tried to convince him to sing along. 

He wouldn’t. 

Not singing along - it was the best way to defy the Hive. But the Hive did not strike back. It did not even seem to pay much attention to him anymore. As if it only cared to _have_ him, not to specifically _do_ anything with him. Paul liked it that way. At least he could be himself.

 _Himself_ … how could he define ‘himself’?

He couldn’t. 'Himself' did not exist anymore. Paul stopped existing the moment he had given up and the spores had implanted themselves in his mind and he sung and danced. 'Paul' was gone.

Then who was he?

Or what was he?

He had thought about it in-depth - he could not do much more than think - and he realized he could not even properly call himself ‘human’. Not while alien spores reigned in his body and had rearranged everything under his skin. Not while his blood and guts were blue and his mind was under the (partial) control of a hive mind. 

Human. What is a human? How could it be defined? It surely had a proper definition. Under that definition, he may still be considered a human. 

But he didn’t feel like one.

One thing that colored the human experience was the casual things that nobody thought about. Not just the small details such as what you liked, but the things that seem so normal for survival that when it’s taken away, it’s not known whether it would make you human in the biological or emotional sense.

Breathing. Humans need air. Paul hasn’t needed to breathe since his infection. The only reason he had breathed since then, was to push out notes and lines when he was forced to. He barely even spoke these days. 

Food. He did not need to eat. And even then, he had no clue how the infected body looked like from the inside, if it even had a digestive tract, and how and if it even fed itself. He no longer ate or drank; he wasn’t even sure how to chew and swallow anymore.

Warmth. One of the comforts Paul missed the most. When the sun broke through the clouds and its rays fell on his bare skin, he could not feel it. When it snowed and he walked through it on his bare feet, he could not feel it. There was no warmth or cold - there was only a state in between that was neither. He could wear anything all year long, from Bermuda shorts to a snow jacket, and it wouldn’t make a damn difference.

Pain. There was no pain. There was no getting hurt and feeling it. In a desperate moment, he’d tried to pull out his intestines. He hadn’t gone through with it, but another drone had done it for him, to give him "what he wanted". Where his intestines dangled out, it was just numb. By the next day, it would all be healed up and there would be no trace of the wound and the numbness would fade away. 

Emotions. Where were the emotions? They had still been strong in the beginning, other than the forced happiness and grins on their faces. But as time progressed, as months flew by, these emotions weakened until they could be considered non-existent. The closest he got was indifferent and numb. That was all he could feel, other than the desperation that had become normal in his life. 

So, what makes a human? Breathing, food, warmth, pain, emotions... this was just a small selection of things that Paul had lost and considered to be human, or at the very least a part of life. 

He wasn't human. He wasn’t much of anything anymore. The Hive had turned him into a drone and stripped him of almost everything that had defined 'Paul', that made him who he was, that kept him from being the mindless drone or trophy that the Hive had wanted him to be.

But there was one thing that the Hive could not take away. They’d tried, and it hadn’t worked. If it had, Paul would not have wandered off and left the main group. If it had, Paul would be singing and dancing and living his personal hell.

He had autonomy. It was very limited, but he still had it. 

He had his autonomy. 

And that is a wonderful thing.


	3. Love (and its sunken dreams)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The road to California is as much a pit of despair when Wiggly is sold everywhere. (Lex and Ethan did not wait to leave)

They had a Wiggly.

Lex grabbed the doll from the crate and went home with Ethan and Hannah, faking an illness. Frank surprisingly let her go - he was mad at her for skipping work on such an important day, but he did not want to risk her staying and infecting the other employees. He couldn't miss anyone, but he did not want to take any chances. Frank let her leave with much reluctance.

Ethan and Lex packed the doll in a box and shipped it to the buyer. They had wanted the Wiggly so badly, they had already wired Ethan the money. With seven thousand dollars in the pocket, Ethan filled up the tank while Lex and Hannah grabbed their things. Then, they left for California.

There was practically no traffic. If they believed the news, everyone who could, was at a toy store to get their hands on a Wiggly. Things turned bloody. The demand was far too high, and the supply quickly ran out. Those who didn’t have a Wiggly started to look for one. They were paranoid, greedy, and all-round evil - even those who did not exhibit such behavior before today.

Hannah didn’t feel good. She hadn’t felt good since they’d left Hatchetfield. It was Wiggly. Not only did she hate him, but she was also afraid of him. Ethan and Lex had thought this was irrational, but as the day went on, they too had started to fear the doll’s influence. A Hatchetfield woman named Linda Monroe had proclaimed herself the prophet, in need of a Wiggly doll, so he could come to Earth. People in other cities heard and either declared Linda was their Mother or thought she committed heresy. The camps fought one another. 

Ethan managed to steer clear of larger cities on the first portion of their journey. They tried to stay away from largely populated areas and even smaller towns or villages if they too had devolved into chaos because of Wiggly. Still, they ran out of supplies. They had to stop places to refill the tank and get some more food and water.

From Hatchetfield to California. Within seventy-two hours, with regular breaks, they arrived in California.

It was not what they had expected.

Not even California had been free from the reality of the Wiggly craze. Everyone they saw was also obsessed with the doll. They only made it this far because Ethan had saved them by some quick improv about the “mother” and blessing Wiggly and shit. But these mindless people bought it and let them through.

Los Angeles had been their dream, but their dreams would not be waiting there. Their dreams were never set during times when a doll was idolized and most adults were enthralled. Instead, they stayed above Sacramento, and with more bluffing from Ethan, they’d made it to the ocean. 

It was a majestic sight. There was only blue, as far as the eyes could see. A vast and large mass of water, stretching farther than their minds could wrap their heads around. On the other side of this water lay Australia and the Asian continent. Within this water lived thousands of creatures they may never know about because humans never really could dive that deep, with or without equipment to do it for them, to capture the whole scale of what could be found out there. 

They made it. They made it.

But there was nothing they could do.

They had arrived. California. But with everyone gone crazy, they had no future. No movies to act in, no money to earn, no stable life. 

And Lex started to think: maybe, they should’ve left earlier. 

Maybe they should’ve stayed in Hatchetfield.

But they wouldn’t have been able to do anything there, either, and based on multiple stories she’d heard, she may have even died because she couldn’t deliver a Wiggly to blood-thirsty customers who wanted one.

And Lex knew, if this was how the world ended, she was glad she was with Ethan and Hannah in California - even if it wasn’t the exact way she’d planned it to be.


	4. Life (and the way it seems)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After his conversation with Wiggly goes awry, president Howard Goodman reflects on his career. (Goodman almost lost the popular vote and electoral college)

_No._

This could not be happening. Not to him, not now.

“I need some fresh air,” president Howard Goodman mumbled. The agents nodded and escorted him to a backdoor, where he could sit or stand outside, in an area that was deemed safe.

Safe… that word had no meaning anymore.

He wished he could be alone. He wished he could just dismiss them and be here on his own. But they weren’t his staff and it had been clear that he held no authority over this stranger branch of the military. They would stay close, for his safety.

These were the same agents that had dragged him away from the portal when he lost it the first time. They were silent. At least he had that.

Two doors, not one. 

Howard put his face in his hands have and took a deep breath. He’d wished this was a nightmare, but it was very much happening in real life. He’d talked to an interdimensional being who was smarter than he seemed, who could not be negotiated with, who had used the president to start World War Three.

_Two doors, not one._

Howard leaned his head against the wall and stared at nothing in the distance.

He was glad the agents stayed silent and did not ask him what to do. He had no ready answer on how to deal with the threat he had no previous experience with.

One thought came back. One he wouldn't share with anyone.

_It should’ve been him._

Anthony John Villen. Father of two, grandfather of five, the Republican conservative candidate who failed to win the election because he ran against generally well-liked status-quo Democrat Howard Goodman.

Looking back at the election, he still couldn’t believe he had won it. The scales had been balanced. About half the country would vote for Villen, the other have for Goodman, with a negligible part of the voters casting theirs on third-party or independent candidates. It could have been either of them that night.

Howard had doubted. He never showed the people, of course, but he was nervous. Villen was such a charismatic man who knew exactly what to say to pull people in. He explained his policies clearly and eloquently, way better than the clown the Republican party tried to get elected four years ago. Howard had to try his best not to fall for any of his opponent’s tricks. He had fallen for some in the past and it had hurt his chances, according to the polls.

The polls could not agree. Some said Goodman would win, others said Villen would be the next president. Howard could already see the headlines generalizing how Villen won the electoral college and popular vote by a small margin.

Then Villen’s unflattering past came up, only a month before the elections were held.

People started to speak up. An incident was filmed where he openly called a queer man a “faggot”. It went viral and caused outrage - he was presented as the conservative who was tolerant towards sexual and romantic minorities and the part of the American people living in sin. This was the catalyst for a set of stories of people who had met him and recounted their experiences. He was rude to those he did not need. He refused to shake the hand of a Latina fan of his at a rally. He had his autistic grandchild sent to boarding school because he was “being difficult” - far out of sight of his perfect family. Stories like these and more popped up, more and more, more than he could debunk, and the people turned on him. For a candidate who previously had given no indication of being such a vile person, this was just too much.

Howard easily won the popular vote. He also won the electoral college, but just barely. Villen had wished Goodman luck with his presidency and even wanted to be present at the inauguration. He did not attend because the people were still furious.

It had always given Howard a bad feeling. Especially because he knew none of these stories were true.

Whenever Howard met someone in person, he could easily see whether they were honest and genuine, or whether they were the corrupt politicians with double or triple agendas and a nasty personality. He had an eye for such things.

Anthony Villen was a good man. He still is. He called Howard when all the stories started to come out. He could’ve called anyone on his team, discussed it with his wife, but he turned to the young Democrat instead to explain everything. 

Everything had been taken out of context. He was having an off-day and hadn’t realized just how rude he had been until much later and forgot to apologize. He had been ill during the rally and did not shake hands with anyone, so he wouldn’t accidentally pass it on. His grandson was sent to a school they trusted, one well-equipped to help and guide the boy through life, and he tries to keep contact as much as he can. He could not deny calling the man a faggot, however, and he could not justify it either. He publicly apologized for it and promised to do better, blaming a strict religious upbringing and a moment of weakness and fatigue. The people did not buy it. 

Howard had not believed the allegations. When Villen explained everything, a weight was lifted off his shoulders. Some of Goodman’s core supporters still wondered why he didn’t use the opportunity to use them for his benefit or to run ads with this damning 'evidence'.

He did not want to do it for his personal benefit. Before the allegations came out, Howard already fully believed the country would have their next Republican president. 

_It should have been him._

Howard closed his eyes and imagined Anthony Villen as the president. He would have gone to Wiggly, would have even suggested it. He would not have panicked. Howard didn’t even think Anthony would have succumbed to the Wiggly doll Morris brought into the Oval Office. He was older, more experienced, more fulfilled in his life. Howard was one of the youngest presidents in United States history and relatively new to politics as well, only having been a senator with one term to his name. 

It should have been Villen here. 

But it wasn’t. Villen was living out life in his Arkansas home, surrounded by his family, while Goodman was trapped in a secret facility, cut off from the rest of the world.

And he’d just started World War Three. Villen wouldn’t have done that. 

Howard looked up at the sky - grey clouds lazily drifted past a blue sky. Gray clouds watched as the country was plunged into chaos because of their greed and love for one specific demon doll. Gray clouds judged him and his inability to save the country.

And Howard cried. 


	5. Gray (the old and rust)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is the downward spiral in which professor Hidgens found himself after the meteor struck. (he forgets to put on gloves)

There are many things Henry Hidgens hadn’t planned to do. When you look back at his life, you can find many experiences and moments where he made decisions that would seem counter-productive at the time, or which seemed to go against everything he stood for. Some decisions, on the other hand, were inexplicably too right for him.

Call it fate, or circumstance. Either way, the way Henry Hidgens went through life set him up perfectly for the fate he suffered after the meteor crashed. 

Even from a young age, he had liked musicals. There is not much else to say about it. Where teenage girls had posters from pop stars and guys had posters of great athletes, little Henry Hidgens had self-made playbills hanging on his bedroom walls. While musical theater was his first love, it as not a defining character trait. He was more than that. He was excited, eccentric, creative and a genius with a great interest in biology. Both of these likes followed him when he became a teenager.

That’s when his first defining moment happened. Children and teenagers can be cruel. They were cruel and always will be, especially when there is an anomaly, especially when someone isn’t like the others or does not fit in. Henry was quickly labeled the weird kid. They made fun of him for many things, and one of them was for liking musical theater. 

As a defense mechanism, he focused on his studies. He swore to never talk about his favorite shows in public anymore, replacing his excitement for the craft with the excitement about scientific breakthroughs and biological processes. He was then bullied for being a nerd, but at least they were not bringing up musical theater. He had saved his favorite subject from the ridicule of his peers.

By the time Hidgens went to university, he had convinced himself his love for this beautiful art form should be confined to his four-bedroom walls. He studied biology, and only shared his love for musical theater with his friends. They did laugh about it, but not in the way bullies would ridicule him. Hidgens had yet to learn the lesson that students were different from high schoolers and would not bully him for something as silly as liking a particular art form. But he had regained some of his confidence to tell his friends that he liked musical theater. Some of them simply nodded in agreement and understanding, others seemed to have already guessed. 

At university, he also first came into contact with people who believed the end was nigh and the earth would be wiped out by a global extinction event. It wasn’t unreasonable to think something like this might ever happen, by humanity’s own hand or by something else completely. 

At this moment, during his third year of studies, he theorized a meteor from outer space would come carrying something that would start the apocalypse. The dinosaurs were wiped out by a meteor, so why couldn’t humanity be? But then the part of his mind that was obsessed with musical theater added something strange. There would be singing and dancing, coordinated by those who had passed away because of the meteor. A musical zombie apocalypse.

Hidgens laughed it off himself. He was a man of science, after all, and the chances of a musical theater apocalypse actually taking place were incredibly slim. However, an apocalypse could still happen; an extinction event could still wipe out humanity. So he started to prepare. He built his home in a remote area. He built fences and walls around it. He built his home to be a bunker, but his basement was the last place he could retreat to when things were going wrong above the ground. 

Slowly, deliberately, carefully, his home became a giant panic room which he hoped to use to survive the apocalypse in. The one thing that rested was to stock up on all the essentials: food, water, guns and bullets, medical equipment, and a shit ton of booze, obviously always bought in non-suspicious quantities so the people wouldn’t look at him like he was a weirdo.

The one place he allowed himself to be ‘weird’ was on the work floor. Or, in his case, in the assembly hall. Community college students sat in the large hall and listened to him ramble about several aspects of biology that he had to teach, and they watched him be excited about biological things that were not necessarily on the agenda. The way he passionately rambled on and how he interacted with the class made him one of the favorite professors. He also gained the reputation as the weird one, but the label no longer bothered him. The term could be interpreted either as nice or mean - they believed him to be the good or bad kind of weird. Either way, he taught at the college, received his paycheck, and made good use of the money, investing about twenty percent of the money in supplies for his bunker.

He had to wait thirty years. He had used the time wisely, building up his home and equipping it with all the new cutting-edge technology the world has to offer, and replacing it when it became obsolete. His latest addition was making everything automatic and with voice commands, operated by his loyal assistant Alexa. _It can’t be far off now,_ he used to think to himself in the months leading up to the apotheosis. Any minute now.

The meteor fell from the sky and struck the Starlight theater. It had happened. He had seen it coming and rushed to his basement. When he came up, he hadn’t expected everyone to still be around, nor did he think it was so small it couldn’t even cover the stage of the Starlight. What happened next surprised him positively.

The apocalypse had started with the meteor - it just hadn’t happened how he thought it would. The old theory came to mind; the one including musical zombies. The one he’d conjured up as a joke. 

It wasn’t a joke anymore. It was happening, right in front of him, and he knew exactly what he needed to do.

He locked all the doors and got comfortable for the end of the world. He’d be one of few people who would survive in his bunker unless the infected found him and overwhelmed his house. Until then, he’d check his supplies and stockpile of weapons. No infected would come close to him without a fight.

Then Emma Perkins came and brought some friends. He let her in - he couldn’t let his favorite student die, could he? - but with it also allowed the infection into his house in the form of an infected police officer, who later also infected the woman.

He put them in his lab and started to study them alongside a sample he’s taken from the police officer. He came to many fascinating conclusions and deduced many things about these creatures which later turned out to be true. 

There was one thing, however, which he could not have predicted. While this infection, this ‘blue shit’, prefers to be ingested or otherwise infiltrate its new host from the inside, it could also influence its new host if it comes too long in contact with it. In his enthusiasm, Hidgens forgot to put on his gloves. He touched the sample with his bare hands and in this manner transported it to his lab. While moving the corpses, he got some of the goo on his hands as well and didn’t wash it off until later. Even while studying them, he came into contact with the blue shit. 

It changed him. He did not foresee this was even a possibility, but it was happening to him. While it did not in any sense of the word ‘infect’ Hidgens, it did influence the way he thought about the Hive. It pushed positive images into the minds of the musical theater-loving skeptic who foresaw the end of the world due to human error and played into it.

Hidgens’ fascination became his biggest enemy. It made him see things differently. What he tried to study became something good, a force that would unite humanity against extinction if it surrendered its autonomy, individuality, and free will.

So wasn’t it right to give into it? Wasn’t it right to let the Hive control things? Wasn’t it right to save humanity now that a savior was knocking on their door?

Hidgens gave into the infection with free will and became one of the only humans to do so.


	6. Life (turned into dust)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the meteor strikes, Tom will do everything he can to keep Tim and Becky safe - even at his own expense. (Becky left Stanley years ago)

The end is near in the weirdest way possible. 

Tom did not know what he had to think when he went to school. People were singing and dancing in the street. One big coordinated flash mob. Tom could appreciate a good flash mob from time to time, so long as they did not obstruct his way to work. Once he finally arrived at school, some kids were singing and dancing as well. 

He’d frowned - was today World Flash mob Day or something? Whatever it was, it gave him an uneasy feeling. Like something bad was going to happen soon.

His gut hadn’t been wrong. The singers-dancers quickly turned to violence, not even before the second class started. He was in his class when other students and a teacher came here to hide from what soon turned out to be a murderous mob.

He’d wanted to stay with his students. Really, he did; But if this was happening at school, this was also happening all over Hatchetfield, including at Tim’s school. Including at the hospital. 

He managed to convince himself the students were in safe hands with Mrs. Galan. She knew how to use a gun. She carried one. She should be able to protect the students. He ran out saying he was going to get help. He felt bad for the lie, but he needed to do something if he wanted to get his son and girlfriend and leave.

He made it to the car and raced to Tim’s school. It hadn’t gotten there yet, thank goodness. Despite the teacher’s protests, he grabbed his son and dragged him back to the car, telling him about the murderous flash mob going through the city. They left right on time - some infected high school students arrived at the elementary school right as Tom drove Tim away.

Now Tom just needed to get to Becky. Unfortunately, the hospital was downtown - however, according to the newscasters on the radio and based on what Tom saw, downtown was fucked.

It was a madhouse down there. Tom wasn’t even sure he wanted to drive through the chaos to get to Becky. But he had to - he wasn’t going to lose his family to this singing and dancing madness, which tried to get to him but that he easily avoided by driving faster than was legally allowed and sometimes hitting these zombies if they stood in his way.

He found a place to park the car, out of sight of any of these zombies, and relatively close to the hospital. He instructed Tim to lie down on the ground, to make himself as small as he possibly could and not to open the car for anyone except him and Becky (and not to open it to anyone who sang, including him and Becky). In that same place, he found a gun, just lying around. Not taking any chances, he picked up the gun and went on his way. 

Tom ran around in the madness, mimicking the movements of the zombies and pretending to sing along, even though he did not know the movements or lyrics. He made his way to the hospital and almost lost hope when he saw that the highest floor was literally on fire and a lot of patients and medical staff stood around, watched, and sang about it. He did not spot her red hair amongst the staff.

When he turned and glanced into a shop, he did catch her. He dropped the act and ran towards her. She was ready to knock his brains out if he did not confirm he wasn’t a musical zombie. Fortunately, he wasn’t the best singer.

He took Becky and together, mimicking the zombies, returned to the car. It had not yet been discovered. Tim had been safe this entire time. That was amazing news.

Tom had been lucky until then. His luck was running out. 

It was an ambush. The zombies had found them out. They had come to make the Houstons join their cause, by killing them and stuffing them with the blue shit Tom had seen dripping out of mouths and ears and noses, that also colored any exposed intestines or muscles or nerves blue.

If they ran into the car and drove away, it would be too late. They’d be knocking on their door, tearing it from its hinges and grabbing them. If the zombies were held up, however, they might have a chance.

But there was nothing that could hold them up or distract them. Unless…

Tom handed the keys to Becky. “Get to the car.”

“Tom—”

“Go. Please.”

She took the keys and ran to the car. At the same time, Tom provoked the zombies and shot at them with the gun he’d found earlier. He shot some of them, killing them clean, but he had no infinite bullets to go against the zombies’ infinite stamina. Becky had safely made it inside the car when the zombies that had survived thus far had reached Tom.

They tore him to shreds. The last glimpse Tom caught was one of Becky driving the car away from the scene. And he thought: _Godspeed, good luck, I’m sorry._

And everything went black.


	7. Love (in loveless times)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ted and Charlotte don’t know what to do when they’re the last survivors after the meteor struck. Maybe he should’ve appreciated her more. (Emma and Paul are useless)

They ran as fast as they could.

Ted ran in the front, holding the gun, the only weapon they could rely on to protect them from the singing horde. With his other hand, he dragged Charlotte behind him - he couldn’t lose her, too. She desperately tried to keep up with him, even though she wasn’t a very active or athletic person. 

They ran back to civilization, away from the crazy professor that had let infected people, _singing zombies,_ into his house. Away from the army, too, that was also singing and dancing and probably looking for anyone who wasn’t in sync with them. Their song echoed over the forest road, though they couldn’t be that close… could they?

Couldn’t any authority figure be trusted here? Better blow this place up before it goes to shit in the rest of America and the world.

“Ted, over there!” Charlotte said, pointing to her right. Ted followed the finger - a small wooden shack, with no lights on. He didn’t need to think twice.

“Get in here, quick!” he quietly said as he dragged her with him to the shack. There was no lock on the door, which Ted swung open. It creaked, though not loudly, and Ted closed it behind him. He and Charlotte sat down in the darkest corner of this rudimentary shack, hoping they wouldn’t be discovered. 

They panted and the adrenaline started to wear off, now they sat on the rough planks. 

“Are we safe here?” Charlotte quietly asked him, afraid to break the silence. Neither one of them would want to be too loud - not now, not here.

“I hope so,” Ted responded. He ran his hand through his hair and let out a tense sigh.

“Fuck.”

“The army’s out there,” Charlotte said after a couple of seconds. Ted sighed in exasperation.

“Singing and dancing and, if you haven’t noticed, infecting anyone they see.”

Charlotte nodded in response. She had heard and seen it, too, and the thought that there was any army person out there not infected was quickly ushered out of her mind. 

“Do you think they’ve got everyone? All of Hatchetfield?” she then asked. Surely, there would be others who had evaded capture up until now. Surely, they couldn’t be the only ones. 

But Ted nodded. With this simple gesture, he smashed her hopes.

“Yeah, probably,” he said. “The people here are stupid enough to all get caught.”

 _That’s not true_ , Charlotte had wanted to say, but she remained silent. If Ted wanted to believe Hatchetfield was full of idiots and stupid people, she wasn’t going to correct him. 

“So…” she then said, “we’re the last ones?”

Ted shrugged dramatically. “Maybe.”

That was all Charlotte needed to panic. If they were the last ones, they needed to stop this. They needed to run. They needed to stay safe. They needed to get off the island and avoid or rescue those who became infected. They needed to do so much, that Charlotte’s mind was soon overwhelmed with everything they could and should do.

“What do we do? What do we do? _What do we do_?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know. I don’t KNOW, Charlotte!”

Silence. Charlotte breathed quickly and shallowly, closing her eyes and trying to calm herself while Ted sighed and instantly regretted raising his voice at her.

“I’m sorry,” he said, returning to the semi-whisper they’d used to communicate before. “It’s just… fuck this.”

This was hell on earth. He used to enjoy horror movies, though he had always thought zombies were a little ‘meh’ - probably because they were overused and an easy way to throw in some tropes and clichés and call the new composition original.

“Why couldn’t it have been Paul instead?” Ted then said.

“You’d rather die?” Charlotte wondered, a frown on her face. Ted nodded.

“I’d rather anything but this.”

Paul had been lucky. If you could call it ‘lucky’. He’d gone to grab coffee before everyone was called to Mr. Davidson and infected. He found Ted, Charlotte, and Bill by accident and grabbed the wrong barista on his way back. Charlotte’s husband, also infected, managed to severely hurt Emma before Ted somehow managed to incapacitate Sam. She’d been speaking of a biology professor in a fortress where they could stay.

The professor only let them in because of the barista, his former student, and now test subject. She was tied to a chair and Paul could not leave her alone, that lovesick fool. He should’ve come downstairs to the bar with Bill, Ted, and Charlotte. Maybe then, the barista wouldn’t have convinced him to let her go. Maybe then he wouldn’t have been infected and subsequently killed with her. 

It should’ve been Paul. He’d been vocal about not liking musicals before, he should’ve been the one who survived. Fate could be cruel sometimes. 

“You know…” Charlotte said, to break the silence. “I’ve been praying.” 

Yeah, no shit. Charlotte was always praying about stuff, but since it was important to her, Ted did not say anything about it out loud and let her continue without interruption.

“I already lost my Sam, and… I’ve been praying you’d be saved. You and me.” For the first time since this musical outbreak started, she was smiling and looked at him lovingly. “He’s been listening.”

“Either that, or we were extremely lucky,” Ted commented. He was leaning more towards the latter option. God wouldn’t let this happen just for them to make it out alive. If anything, God might have caused this all to happen and they’ve just survived based on pure luck. But why the fuck would He start the apocalypse in Hatchetfield?

“I don’t think so,” Charlotte said. One look and Ted knew she genuinely, wholeheartedly believed that she was right - God was helping them along. And now she had proof that God was on their side and had spoken about it out loud, she regained some confidence. She regained some faith in the two of them. And she started to believe God had kept them alive for a reason - so now they should figure out what that reason was.

“What can we do?” Charlotte then said again, now more composed than the last time she’d said it. “Should we leave?”

“If we do, we’ll probably die,” Ted responded. In the silence, they could still hear their America great again song in the far distance. It was fading and hard to hear, even in complete silence, but it was still there. They could still be found. 

Charlotte wasn’t easily deterred. “Maybe we can…”

“We can’t,” Ted said before she could finish the sentence. “It’s everywhere. We are screwed.” And the one thing they could still do now was to try and prolong their lives by hiding away and hoping nobody would find them.

“We should still do something,” Charlotte pressed on. If she couldn’t find what they could do, then maybe Ted would.

“But what?” Ted asked. “Everything’s probably already been done before. What can we do to change this shit?”

If you asked him directly, there wasn’t any option left. Even the ones you didn’t think about at first weren’t viable options. The military had taken over the island, and it would’ve been a good thing if it weren’t for the fact that the military was infected and singing and dancing and whatnot. They got caught. If even the military, with all its equipment, wasn’t strong or smart enough to take down the Hive, how could he and Charlotte do something meaningful?

“What about the meteor?” Charlotte then asked, out of the blue. Later, she’d claim it was an answer from God, though she wasn’t thinking about that at the moment.

“The meteor,” Ted repeated. He hadn’t really thought about it - probably because it was something he had cast out of his mind when the infection became a more pressing matter.

“Yeah.” Charlotte nodded to herself, and then looked at Ted, growing more excited with every word she said. “It came from space the day before the infection spread. It has to be connected, right? It is the origin of what’s hurting us and— maybe if we destroy it…”

She paused and looked at Ted expectantly. There was a look of realization in his eyes, and she knew they were thinking about the same things.

“Take down the meteor, kill everything else with it.”

“Like you told Bill,” Charlotte added helpfully.

Take down the head, everything goes down with it. Indeed exactly has he had told Bill. If only he hadn’t been so foolish to believe the phone call from Alice and decided to drive to the high school to pick her up and save her. It was a suicide mission. If he had stayed - yes, he would’ve also had to experience Hidgens’ musical number, but Ted did not believe he would’ve been fast enough to escape the fortress. One way or another, it would still end with Ted and Charlotte in the old cabin. 

“Would that even work?” Ted asked. It was a good concept, but there were no details about it. Destroy the meteor - how? Kill an infected, take its weapons, and hope you get to the damn thing in time to destroy it before they catch him? 

It was risky, but the only plan they had. But there still was something else that bothered him. Something he hadn’t thought would ever bother him.

“If it doesn’t work, we’re doomed. But if it does, then what?” He glanced at Charlotte. “Everyone else would still be dead.” 

It would mean the end of Hatchetfield. The _end_ end, not the end that had been initiated with the meteor crash. Everyone dead, and nobody would want to live in a town where a catastrophe took place. God forbid they’d have to live in Clivesdale until they found someplace else to call home. 

But Hatchetfield was home. And though he had never thought too positive about it, he couldn’t imagine being anywhere else. 

“But we would live,” Charlotte said. She reached out to stroke his cheeks. Ted allowed her to and nodded. Yeah. They’d live. At least that was something. 

Why was he even thinking so far ahead in the future when there may not even be a future to think about? 

“Yeah,” He eventually said, softly. “Okay, the meteor it is, then.” 

He stood up and checked the gun he took from the crazy professor before said professor knocked him out. It was loaded \- seven bullets. It wasn’t much, but it was something. 

He turned to Charlotte. She did not stand up, nor did she show any intention to follow him to the meteor. Good - she was not the confrontational type and it would be much safer for her to stay hidden in the cabin than it would be for her to follow Ted around. He wished he could leave something with her to defend herself. Then again, if something showed up here and she did have a weapon, she probably wouldn’t use it. 

“Pray for me,” he told her. Maybe God was watching. On the off-chance that He was, Ted could have someone who wasn’t a dick, such as himself, pray that he made it out of there alive. She was good and pure and shit like that. Too good and pure. He liked that about her. After today, he wished he had taken her much, much sooner, so they could at least have been happy together for a little longer. So they could love each other for a longer period of time, before the inevitable end.

Charlotte nodded determinedly. “I will.”

That was it, then. Ted walked over to the door and listened. There were no more songs to be heard in the area. That could be a good sign. The silence at least motivated him to actually go through with the plan, no matter how meager it was.

To go and fail and die, or to stay and hide and die. Their chances weren’t that high, anyway. Might as well do something useful with his last moments on this Earth. Just too bad he couldn’t stay with Charlotte.

“Now, let’s destroy that fucking meteor.”


	8. All that I've left behind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything he had ever held dear was always one dimension away, and he could never get it back. (everything, everywhere)

Nothing.

Absolutely nothing.

John McNamara stared into the void and the creature of the void stared back at him. Its gaze burned, it spoke in a childish sing-song voice. It tried to convince John to join its side, to worship and love it.

John did not fall for its tricks as his mentor once did.

He kept Wiggly’s minions at bay. He was strong-willed enough to keep them at a distance and instill a certain level of fear in them. They were never confronted by a human who refused Wiggly. This human was also capable of hurting them, so they stayed away.

John was all alone. Wiggly gave up a long time ago. Not even Wilbur came by to manipulate him into joining Wiggly’s side or for a conversation about the world he had left behind. 

John preferred the company if it meant a chance at redemption for Wilbur. It had since been proven to be impossible, so John preferred the loneliness.

There wasn’t much else to do than to walk around and hope to find a corner of this dimension that wasn’t perpetually black and deafeningly silent. He wasn’t sure what he was looking for, but he wasn’t giving up. Finding something had become his purpose. John was painfully aware that if he stopped looking, if he did not give himself a purpose, he would go insane. 

He wasn’t going to let Wiggly have that victory. He needed to carry on with good hope that he would someday find something.

He walked day and night. In his state, he could walk forever and ever and not even take a rest. John himself did not dwell on the passage of time. This dimension did not seem to know any time and Wiggly might only know of it because it targeted a dimension where it was very present.

John eventually did find something out of the ordinary for this dimension. Something that none of their previous expeditions or calculations had shown would be present.

John might describe it as countless screens floating in the air, from all angles and all sizes. Here he rediscovered green, red, yellow, blue, purple, and all other colors on the visible spectrum. Colors he hadn’t realized he’d forgotten about since he only looked into the deep black of this world. 

John approached them with care - it was new, it was strange, he did not know what these ‘screens’ were there for. He did not know if he was imagining things or if this was actually in front of him. 

John picked a random screen and watched. It showed him Hatchetfield and its destruction. People were running everywhere; chaos reigned; wherever there were terrified people, the alien force that chased them sung and danced.

It was a small group of survivors. Four people who had, against all odds, survived this apotheosis up until then. The infected followed them, almost had them cornered. 

Then the military showed up. John McNamara killed three.

And as McNamara watched the scene unfold, he started to remember it as if he were actually there. He had gone to eradicate the Hive, three bullets in each initial victim because there was no cure. A man named Paul had survived in the school and he could still make it out in two hours if he and his girlfriend made it to the chopper in time. It wasn’t a clean-up mission any more than it was a battle zone. While his team was specialized and knew how to deal with it, sheer numbers overwhelmed them. 

One of the infected went for a child and her sister - Lex and Hannah Foster. McNamara made a noble decision to distract the infected long enough for the children to get out of there and hopefully find a safe haven. It drew too much attention to him, though, and they infected him soon after.

John McNamara in the Black and White was watching his own demise, as it had happened in what must be another universe.

PEIP had theorized multiple universes existed. The Black and White had proved that at least one other dimension existed next to their own. But the Black and White was more than the one dimension - it was a window to different universes. John had recently been absorbed by this dimension because he couldn’t save the president if he stopped to put on a protective suit, so he was the subject of each scene that was played on repeat.

Many different threats came to Hatchetfield to threaten the town specifically or the world. Each time, they heralded the end of the world or it was saved just in the nick of time, with few survivors. Each time, someone in Hatchetfield formed the catalyst for the disaster or helped to prevent it. More than once, Paul Matthews, Jane Perkins, and Hannah Foster were involved in ending or saving the town and the world, sometimes even beyond the graves. And every time, without fail, John McNamara would meet one of these catalysts and help them win the battle, before or after he would succumb to the threat they were facing. Across universes, McNamara was infected with viruses and aliens and other shit. Once or twice, he joined the side of the Wiggly-like being to find out its promises were lies. No matter in how bad of a mental place he was, in the end, McNamara was the White against the Black that tried to consume Hatchetfield.

It was a bleak reality to see Hatchetfield and the world go down to a threat he was trying his very best to save, across all universes.

Other than that, McNamara learned that more than Paul, Jane, or Hannah, he was one of the most important people in the world. He didn’t know how fate or some supernatural being came to that decision, but it had been made. McNamara couldn’t change it.

He was right where he was supposed to be. It wasn’t where he’d wanted to be \- he preferred to be back home, with Xander - but he was where he needed to be.

Some screens showed Xander was by his side when he died. They died together to the Hive in one specific screen, killed by their own forces after they had already sent Hannah on her way to try and save the world. It was a near-perfect ending in what was an otherwise shitty world with shitty circumstances. If that was how he was to go down in that world, he loved to have Xander by his side. 

John spent a long time staring at the screens, learning of all possibilities. With each alternate ending, he could feel that ending as if he had lived it himself. When he had seen all of the endings, he had the memories of every John McNamara that ever existed.

Except, he was no longer John McNamara the human. With knowledge comes power. He was now the White to Wiggly’s Black. He was the missing link now in place. 

And he saw all and he knew everything there was to know about all universes.


	9. Your voice (it lingers on)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The people on the other side of the Clivesdale bridge could only watch the tragedy unfold from afar. (Bill keeps a semi-friendly relationship with his ex-wife)

She never wished for his demise.

Annie had once loved Bill. Bill had loved her, too. They met when they were young. They were good friends, first, then awkward lovers in high school, to break up and go their separate ways. Annie went to a good university in Pennsylvania. Bill stayed closer to home and studied in Michigan.

If it were up to Annie, she would have never gone back to the place she grew up. But Hatchetfield did have a certain pull. Something she couldn’t quite explain, but which residents of Hatchetfield could understand. No matter how much you hated it, no matter how badly you wanted to leave, you couldn’t. there was always something that kept you on the island, something that kept you rooted here. Those who do escape will always return home one day or another, be it through tragedy or happiness.

So, Annie came back home when she was broke. Her parents helped her get back on her feet, but she didn’t have the funds to leave.

And then she randomly bumped into Bill one day. That was the day they fell in love all over again.

Life seemed great. They moved in together and married in the same year. Not much later, Alice came into their life. It was perfect.

Until it wasn’t anymore. She could not remember what had driven her and Bill apart in the first place, but she knew it had to be years in the making. A card house of little things that easily fell when too many cards were put on it. when she realized she loved someone else more than Bill, the two of them made the hard decision to divorce.

They got shared custody of Alice. Annie found a house in Clivesdale, and soon Alice was enrolled in a high school there. Though neither Annie nor Bill liked Clivesdale, Annie had no other choice until she found a suitable apartment in Hatchetfield.

Though this would never happen. It was all too late.

Annie was on the phone with Bill. She stood at the bridge, closed down for traffic. Nothing was getting through. Bill spoke of singing and dancing zombies, that they were scarier than they looked, that Alice was still somewhere in Hatchetfield to see her girlfriend. That he was looking for her.

His last words were that he was gonna save Alice.

That was a day ago. Now, the people were fed the lie that an explosion took out Hatchetfield. She knew better. Bill would never lie to her or exaggerate. She bit her tongue; people would declare her crazy if she spoke up, and maybe some secret organization might take her in for questioning to never release her again, or worse.

And she cried. For her daughter and her ex-husband. For her boyfriend, who also died on the other side of the bridge. For what still could have been and everything that was.

But through the tragedy, while she stood vigil at the bridge with the others, one thing pulled her through. It wasn’t her boyfriend or even Alice. Bill was talking to her. He told her it would be fine, to not be sad, to tell her she was an amazing woman.

It wasn’t Bill. It was just a voice in her head that tried to calm her down with the memory of Bill’s voice.

Even though it wasn’t him, it was the last glimmer of hope she had. And she wasn’t letting go of that.


	10. Friends (they come and go)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She stayed to look for Deb; now she sees everyone. (Alice was enrolled in Hatchetfield High)

All her teenage life, Alice had been happy to go to Hatchetfield High. There were no downsides – they had more extracurricular activities, more chances to develop yourself, and at least she didn’t attend Sycamore High (that was the best part). She met her girlfriend Deb in the halls of high school. In those same halls, Grace Chastity walked around with her friends, Ethan and Lex were often seen together and Danny couldn’t wait for the smoke club to stick a joint in his mouth and blaze it.

The one downside of having almost everyone she cared about in one place, was that when tragedy struck, she’d lose almost everyone she cared about in one fell swoop.

Alice had no idea who brought it in. In reality, it could have been anyone, someone who had the worst luck and had to be one of the first to come into contact with the alien infection. But the poor guy came to school, silently converted his peers until there were enough to start a flashmob during the first break.

And when it was finished and the students of Hatchetfield High applauded the performers, they made their true intentions known and attacked the students.

Alice ran away. It was a mess. Everyone was screaming or, if they were infected, singing. Everyone scrambled to find a safe place. All but Alice; she wanted to find Deb and get out of the school afterward. She wasn’t going to go anywhere without her girlfriend.

She couldn’t find her, though. Those minutes running around, ducking away and out of sight so she wouldn’t be infected, cost her dearly. She wouldn’t know until it was too late.

She saw many familiar faces. The hardest to watch was seeing Ethan and Lex as they chased her around. They sang a duet – every song was evil, though they discussed how they dreamed of going to California, which blended into a song about getting people to join and die. They set their eyes on Alice, who just walked into their line of sight. Alice had to go through many twists and turns before she could finally shake them off. Another run-in with a teacher sent her to the other side of the school. Again, she escaped from the threat.

And then she found Deb.

Alice couldn’t hold back the tears when she found the love of her life singing and dancing with the other members of the smoke club. She came running in, calling Deb’s name and announcing her presence to the infected; ripe for the taking.

Seeing Deb had mentally exhausted her. She didn’t have much energy left from actually running around the high school, either. So instead of running until she managed to shake them off, Alice ran into the nearest room where no infected were, either. The choir room. She barricaded the door and hid in the closet. If anyone came past the windows, they wouldn’t see her sitting inside or try to break through the glass.

As Deb and the smoke club pounded against the door, she tried to call her father. She managed to tell him where she was, that she was scared, that she loved him. Then her cell phone died.

Alice cried and closed her eyes when the smoke club had broken through the barricade, and she wished they’d end it quick.

At least she was with Deb in her final moments.


	11. You (and I hope you know)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Staring down the barrel of the gun, Linda Monroe has no regrets. None at all. (Gerald did not tell her he loved her)

It was a joke.

Becky Barnes had taken a gun. She aimed at Linda Monroe, which was laughable in itself. She was still a little wonky from the sedation, but her hands were steady as she pointed this gun at Linda’s forehead. Not once did Linda show to her (Wiggly’s) followers she was afraid.

But even she couldn’t help but think as she stared at the gun. Though she’d been sedated, she was slowly waking up. Becky’s eyes were clear, however, and there was no doubt she would actually pull the trigger. 

In Linda’s arrogance, her mind still wandered at the threat of her life and focused on one small thing, so simple, so easily overlooked.

Gerald hadn’t told her he loved her when she exited the car that morning. 

Again, it was a simple moment. One Linda usually didn’t think much about. Gerald always reminded her of his love at the most annoying moments, every time they parted for a prolonged amount of time. But this morning, however, after Gerald had driven her to the mall, he said no such thing.

Linda wondered why she cared so much. It was just a little thing. One insignificant moment out of many.

But it wasn’t insignificant. It was in these little things that she found just how much Gerald had changed. He wasn’t smiling anymore whenever she ranted passionately. He wasn’t enthusiastic in bed anymore. He didn’t praise her as much as he used to. She didn’t catch him staring at her lovingly as much. These, and many more little insignificant moments put together constructed a not-so-insignificant problem. 

Linda finally realized why Gerald had been so withdrawn lately. He had lost his love for her.

And though she had cheated on him and had two pregnancies he wasn’t involved in, it broke her heart. 

He wouldn’t know, she realized, and finally she feared for the outcome. If Becky pulled the trigger right then and there, he would not know. If he heard she died, would he care? Would he cry tears of sorrow or joy? What would he tell the boys? Would he even miss her when she was gone? 

What was his truest reaction to the inevitable?

She loved him. She'd neglected it as life got in the way, but she loved him. She should have said it more often. She should have reminded him as he reminded her. She had never been one to outwardly show her love, but now she wished she had. She had cheated on him and wished she hadn't. If she could turn back time, she would say those three words she hadn’t told him since their wedding.

She stared down the gun. And as Becky pulled the trigger, she could not say the words, but she could have them on her mind.

_I love you, Gerald._


	12. Warmth (in the setting sun)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When the man you love already vowed to love someone else, how can you trust him? (Zoey finds out Sam is a husband)

After Zoey had texted him, he came right away. That’s what the text said. Good. They needed to talk.

Zoey looked up. Working as a barista was taxing, especially with all the rude customers, but her breaks brought some much-needed distraction from all the bad things that could and did happen during her shifts. She disliked it so much she was wondering whether she should try to find another student job.

At least she could sing. That was the only plus.

When Sam arrived, clouds were blocking the sun. It was going to rain, the weather forecaster said, but Zoey wouldn’t like that. It wouldn’t fit with the mood she hopefully would be in by the end of her conversation.

There he was. The police car pulled up in the alley behind Beanies, where their conversation could stay private. The last thing she needed was Emma Perkins’ dumb face as she listened in. 

Sam got out of the car with his usual swagger. Once, she might have found that attractive. Now she was only reminded of a peacock. 

“Hey, babe,” he said. 

“Hi, Sam.”

“How’s my favorite barista doing, huh?” He stood behind her and wanted to put his arm around her shoulders. As soon as they made contact, Zoey stepped aside, so his arm fell to his side. He frowned at her. “What’s wrong, babe?”

“I’ve had an interesting day at work,” Zoey said. Though interesting might be a term too mild for what she had just gone through, not even an hour ago.

“Really?” Sam said. Zoey didn’t know whether he feigned interest or not. “You know—”

“No. You listen to me,” Zoey said. She was shocked by her own assertiveness. He was still a cop, after all. But she had earned enough of Sam’s respect for him not to talk back and allowed her to speak. She took the opportunity. 

“A nice lady came in at work today. Simple order. We got talking. I don’t really remember, but her husband had called her. She called him Sam. She also told me he was a police officer.”

Finally, she turned his head to see his face. If he was shocked, he didn’t show it. He also didn’t immediately protest. His non-reaction was all Zoey needed to know he was deliberately doing it. She had needed the confirmation.

“That’s not me,” Sam said. 

Zoey crossed her arms. “It isn’t?”

“I’ve told you before, there’s another Sam in our corps,” Sam tried to explain. Zoey nodded.

“I remember. He has a boyfriend.” Sam had talked about the two on multiple occasions and referred to the husband multiple times as well. 

Zoey had not had enough time to process what she had been doing all this time. She had fallen in love with a married man who seemed more than willing to leave that sweetheart on her own. His lovelessness weighed down on her, and Zoey had contributed to this. 

She did not want to be a home-wrecker. If anything, Sam was the home-wrecker for trying to keep that crucial information from Zoey. She would never have pursued him had she known he was already married. 

“I want you to go,” Zoey then said, taking a step away from him. 

“But babe—” Sam protested. Zoey cut him off.

“Go, Sam. Leave. This is over.” Was it so hard to understand? Or was he so keen on getting with her? “You and your wife need to work things out.”

“Zoey—”

“I will not date a married man,” Zoey responded clearly. She pointed at the police car. “Go back to work and leave me alone.”

Sam did not say anything anymore. He obeyed her and left her. A tear appeared when the car had driven out of sight.

This had been harder than she had imagined. But that sense of relief when she realized that she was free, she started to laugh. This could have been so much worse. The uniform and his love for musicals had drawn her to him. But a man who lied to her, who did not mention he was ‘stuck in a marriage’, who did not take any steps to divorce and was clearly planning to stay with his wife… that was not a man she wanted to be with.

It felt like she had escaped something worse. She had no idea whether this was her overreacting or actually true.

As her break came to an end, the clouds parted and the sun shone bright again. And Zoey smiled. 

Not even the worst customers could ruin her day. 


	13. All that's lost and won

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Victory, at a price. (Becky cannot shoot Linda)

They won.

It was beautiful. 

Russia struck back, as expected. Their prophet lived to speak another day, to unite more and more people under Wiggly’s banner. While the militaries fought, Linda Monroe became the worldwide leader figure for Wiggly and gathered more followers every day, thousands upon thousands per day.

The battle for their hearts was truly won when president Howard Goodman bowed his head for Linda. Yes, he was forced to do so, but the people didn’t need to know. They also didn’t need to know Howard Goodman was murdered after this act was caught on camera and the images were spread. After his encounter in the Black and White, he wouldn’t be persuaded to fall back in line. John McNamara had that effect on people.

From then on, it was smooth sailing. From the ruins of Washington, D.C. they built Wiggly’s portal. A million people worked together in harmony to build that portal: man and woman, old and young, well-educated and straight-up stupid. Each gave themselves a job. Each did something to further Wiggly’s plot. And of course, Linda Monroe satisfied their more religious needs by preaching to them once every day, no longer than thirty minutes.

One more day and Wiggly would finally set foot on Earth and do with it as he pleased. As was the plan.

Then why did it hurt?

Wiley ignored the feeling, for a while. It didn’t hurt, he told himself. He was just so excited it hurt. And he smiled, for if he didn’t smile, that hurt would resurface and he hated it. 

He wasn’t supposed to hurt. This was glorious! Everything was going exactly as planned and not even John McNamara had been capable enough to stop them. This would be paradise, as Wiggly promised.

But that promise rang hollow when this was a reality built by people who had been seduced with a lie. Wiggly did not care for them. Wiley shouldn’t either, but he did nonetheless. They were people, as was Wiley. He could not erase his heritage. He was the only human on Wiggly’s team, and thus the odd man out. Not a mindless Sniggle. Not the all-powerful being. Just human, accidentally stuck in the Black and White and promised paradise when Wiggly took him in.

Wiley knew he’d been used for his knowledge. For a long time, he didn’t care. He had learned not to care anymore about Earth and its inhabitants.

John changed it. His presence in the Black and White alone had been a catalyst for Wiley to regain pieces of his humanity. It disgusted him - now, he was disgusted how John could so easily change him, just by being there. 

And now, Wiley didn’t even know what to think anymore, what was right and wrong. He could not choose a side because it was John against the others. Joining him would be suicide. 

So Wiley stayed by Wiggly’s side and kept up contact with Linda, the Prophet who would be in the center of attention when Wiggly came. She would die first. She didn’t know this. She didn’t have to - it was best to keep her in the unknown, so as not to lose her.

Wiggly won.

But the race Wiley once aligned himself with paid the highest price. Those who survived worshipped Wiggly as their God, as they should. They were perfect little soldiers and allowed Wiggly to come to Earth.

And Wiley wondered if he had been on Earth when Wiggly came, would he have lived? Would he have survived?

What was the true cost of this victory?


	14. Light (when darkness falls)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The meteor scene, revisited (the original “The Guy Who Didn’t Like Musicals” universe)

This was very much where Paul didn’t want to be.

The Starlight Theater never held much importance to him. He barely noticed this cultural hotspot whenever he passed it during his commute. Nevertheless, because of that commute, he knew exactly where he needed to go to destroy the meteor and stop the Hive from spreading further.

Paul never imagined he’d be the hero, either. But there he was, surrounded by six hostiles - Ted and Bill, the professor, Emma’s boss, Mr. Davidson, and the Greenpeace girl. Grenades on a sash around his body, and they sang.

Paul fumbled. His indecision in this crucial moment worked against him. As they stalled, Paul's body moved on the music that played in his mind and he even let something out, as these people begged him to do.

“The air in here is thick with its spores,” Hidgens explained. “Did you really think you could kill us? You’ll be one of us before you can pull that pin.”

And Paul sang the next verse. He actively tried to fight it - but how could you fight something when you didn’t even know where to punch, what to attack, how to fight back against this invisible enemy that started to take root in his mind?

“No no no, no no no no!”

Paul fell to his knees. He needed to get this out of him. He needed to get the Hive out of his mind.

He puked. He hoped it would help, but the Hive laughed at him. It was taking root in his mind, not in his stomach. Paul lost hope.

This is it, he thought. I’m going to die.

While he looked up, he knew he hallucinated. There, in one of the seats, sat Emma. She looked at him with a comforting smile. She did not speak - she just sat there and looked amazing in her Beanies uniform.

He was dying and saw Emma. Why even? He liked her but barely knew her. The only reason she even cared about him was because stressful events tended to bring people together.

Paul then found he didn’t care. As the Hive finished their chorus and Paul's mind became more clouded and the lights seemed to go out, Emma was there in spirit. A light in the darkness. The last comfort.

Paul succumbed to the Hive, his mind on the cute barista.

“ _I’ve never been happy~_ ”


	15. Time (no time at all)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time is such a strange concept, especially to Hannah Foster. (the original “Black Friday” universe)

Hannah never understood the concept of time. It was strange and didn’t seem to play by any rule she observed in nature, except that it kept going. 

As a baby and toddler, she was happiest when it came to her understanding of time - which was none at all. She was happy when she didn’t have that concept of time yet, when she - along with anyone else her age - just lived day by day and did not know or care about the progression of time.

Slowly, it came into her life. She learned about the concepts of today, tomorrow, and yesterday. She learned the names of the days of the week, of the months. She learned time was moving along all the time, without any outside mechanisms. 

That’s when the problems started.

She could not properly quantify "time". She knew days, hours, minutes, seconds, but how could they be an objective measurement of time when the human experience was inherently flawed and leaned to a subjective way to perceive it? When she was in class or if she was bored, time moved so slowly. When she played outside or was having fun, time went by so quickly, she could’ve blinked and the fun was over. How could it be possible that fifty minutes in a classroom passed by slower than fifty minutes on the playground? 

Then she became a teenager and another element was introduced: self-awareness. Others have also said that time went faster when they were having fun, and Hannah added this element to her own perception of time. And yet, there still was something she couldn’t quite place. Something she could not express in words and therefore did not try to do so. Something she couldn’t wrap her head around. 

Then Black Friday came along, and everything fell into place.

People have always said that time was continuous, that it ticked away without consideration for human life, that you couldn’t pause it like a video and continue later. And for the longest time, everyone agreed. To this day, people still do agree with this general assumption.

Hannah knew it was an assumption, however. While time was continuous, it also was a never-ending loop. 

Black Friday was one such loop. Hannah stood up, she and Ethan went to the Cineplex, they get separated while she walks around with a cursed beast in doll-form. And when the missiles strike and Hannah looks up and loses consciousness, she lands back into bed, into an uneasy sleep, to wake up on Black Friday again.

The whole day was a loop. Hannah couldn’t tell whether this was just the end of time that just kept repeating the last day because of its continuous nature, or if this was a fault in the system that accidentally got stuck on this horrible day. But she did know, for a fact, that time could loop. Maybe someone had to fix time before it could continue into Saturday.

Until that day, Hannah found comfort with the terrifying routine of Black Friday. Until that day, she kept wondering when Tomorrow would come. 


End file.
